The sound of breaking glass and hurried footsteps had drawn Renée into the hallway before she could properly think it through. Her phone was still warm in her hand from Naomi's call as she followed the noise, bare feet silent against the carpet.
The night manager and several staff members were gathered around a window at the end of the hall, discussing damage assessment in hushed tones. A palm frond had broken through the glass, letting in fingers of wind that made the tropical arrangements in the corridor dance.
"Everything okay?"
The answer was obvious, but even a writer used banal conversation starters.
"Just a small issue, Ms. Laurent."
A staff member assured her with a tablet clutched to her chest.
"Nothing to worry about right now. Though you should probably return to your room for safety."
Leana appeared behind the group, wrapped up in what looked like Marcus's suit jacket. Renée tried not to think too deeply about the reasons behind the choice. It was their wedding night, after all. Although her eyes lit up when she saw her old friend like that part of the evening didn't even matter.
"Oh good, you're up!"
She grabbed Renée's arm and pulled her slightly away from the staff.
"I just got the most interesting security footage from the reception hall a while ago."
A few beats passed before Renée tensed, knowing what her friend must have seen.
"You actually have someone on the take in security?"
"Please, I have eyes everywhere. A good journalist builds informants!"
Leana's grin was insufferable even in the dim lighting. She pulled out her phone, though she didn't actually play anything. She just waved it like it was a royal decree… or a death sentence.
"So... 'dove', huh?"
"How much did you pay them to spy for you?"
The woman deflected with all her might.
"Honey, good information is worth every penny. Don't worry about my finances."
She squeezed Renée's arm in a vice grip that loosened quickly as she stared at the face with eyes that wouldn't meet her.
"And speaking of valuable intel, Ayla's in suite 312. You should talk to her."
"It's past two in the morning."
"The perfect time is while the iron is hot, don't you know? Which she is. Your ex was *smoking* in her dress earlier!"
[Really? Why were we ever friends, again? She's so meddlesome. But maybe she'll get a fruit basket too.]
"Besides… not like most are sleeping through this anyway. Go confess your unmaidenly desires."
Leana gestured to the window where staff were now attempting to secure a tarp, but the writer never stopped staring and squinting at the woman who *must* be drunker than she was. Before Renée could protest, her friend was already moving away and calling back over her shoulder.
"312! Do. Not. Forget~!"
[A basket of durians still counts as fruit, right?]
Left alone in the corridor, Renée found herself drawn *inexplicably* toward that number. Despite her non-existent better judgment. The last of the wine still hummed in her blood and made everything feel slightly surreal.
The writer thought maybe that was just the storm outside. The way it made the whole building feel alive with anticipation by using its rare form of dangerous reality.
She'd crossed half the distance to Ayla's door before she realized what she was doing. Then her feet carried her the rest of it while her mind was still arguing with itself. Now that she stood frozen with her left hand halfway raised to knock, her heart thundered louder than the wind gusting outside.
[What am I doing?]
Inside the room, Ayla paced. That sound a while ago concerned her enough to wake up, but the wedding party group chat had messages sent to it quickly enough. Now her worries were of a different nature.
She'd changed out of the bronze dress hours ago, but she could still feel the weight of Renée's gaze on her skin. Could still hear that word, that *name*, echoing in her head. As she must have in her dreams, based on the fragments she remembered.
Restless energy made returning to sleep impossible and it had almost nothing to do with the storm outside.
When the knock finally came, it was so soft she almost missed it under the sound of the wind. Still, something made her turn toward the door. Some instinct that recognized the particularity of those three gentle taps.
She opened the door to find Renée standing there still in her reception dress, barefoot. The ash green hair was more of a mess than its style called for. The sight of it all hit her like a physical force once again. The woman who had once been her everything, looking simultaneously so familiar and so… changed.
"I heard the crash."
Renée said immediately. Though they both knew from her tone that it wasn't really why she was there. There was a look on the writer's face that - even after six years - was clear as glass to the lawyer.
"Wanted to make sure you were okay."
When her ex still tried pretending, Ayla should have said she was fine. Should have thanked her for checking and closed the door. Instead, she found herself stepping back. Making space. Inviting.
"Do you want to come in?"
The question hung between them, heavy with possibility that felt electric. When Renée nodded and stepped past her, Ayla caught the faintest trace of wine and familiar perfume. Her pulse jumped further.
"I should… just give me a minute."
She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, needing a moment to collect herself. Once inside, the dark haired woman gripped the counter and stared at her reflection. Her amber eyes were a bit dilated. Proof that her carefully maintained composure was slipping.
That inside was something raw and wanting underneath the cool voiced responses. She took several deep breaths then decided to lie to herself.
[You can handle this. It's just… a conversation.]
When she emerged, Renée had moved closer to the door back into the hallway. Like she was planning her escape route. But something in her expression when she turned held that same intensity she'd worn earlier in the suit. That same confidence but with softer, more vulnerable edges.
"I should go."
Renée didn't move even having said so.
"I shouldn't have..."
"It's okay."
Ayla's answering voice was barely above a whisper. The air between them felt like the moment before lightning strikes. Neither of them was sure who moved first. One moment they were standing with locked eyes, the next…
Renée's hands were in her hair and Ayla's back was against the wall.